Starting from Scratch Page 9

  “This isn’t about your book bringing in more money.”

  “Then what is it about? About your frustrated desire to be a writer? Do you think that the only way you can achieve it is by taking something that’s already done and putting your stamp on it? Is that your master plan, Maxwell?”

  For two cents, she could see herself punching him. It would undoubtedly sting, but it would also feel good. But getting fired wouldn’t. She needed this job right now to keep her head straight. To keep from falling to pieces. So she answered his accusations instead of telling him where he could put them. “I have no desire to stamp your work, Mr. Sutherland. I just thought that you had it in you to be a really good writer.”

  She couldn’t have insulted him more if she’d tried. His brow turned to dark thunder. “I am a really good writer.”

  He was breathing fire in her space. She didn’t budge. “You write pulp, Mr. Sutherland. Good pulp,” she allowed quickly before he could say anything about her choice of words. “Pulp that sells like hotcakes. But isn’t there something inside you that wants to produce something memorable?”

  He eyed her, wondering where she drew her bravado from. He wouldn’t have thought her capable of it, looking at her. She irritated the hell out of him, but there was something inside him that did admire her moxie. “Not particularly.”

  Well, that took the wind out of her sails, Elisha thought. She retreated, feeling oddly saddened at the same time. “Too bad. Because you could.”

  Critics hated his books. Readers loved them. Critics got books for free. The public paid. As the old cliché went, he knew which side his bread was buttered on. “If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.”

  Maybe she’d misjudged the man within. “I thought you liked taking risks.”

  “It’s obvious that you do.” His voice was almost malevolent, but his expression entertained another emotion. “Most people don’t stand up to me.”

  “And you like that?” she asked, incredulous. “Being a bully?”

  “I like having my authority recognized.”

  Elisha shook her head. “There’s authority, and there’s being a bully. Someone like you should know the difference.” She took her coat from the rack where she’d hung it. There was nothing more she could do here. He wasn’t going to discuss her changes, he was going to vanquish them, one by one. He didn’t need her for that. “There’s no point in my staying to talk over my notes. We both know you can go over my head and ignore them. Rocky wants you to be happy and to stay with the company.”

  He glared at her. “And you obviously don’t give a damn.”

  She paused to look at him. “No, you’re wrong there. I obviously do give a damn. Looks like you’re not exactly that much of a judge of character, either.” Turning on her heel, she walked to the door. “Don’t bother seeing me out.”

  His voice trailed after her. “Wasn’t going to.”

  CHAPTER 14

  Every time she called Henry’s cell phone, Elisha literally held her breath. Afraid that there’d be no answer.

  It had been almost two weeks since Henry had dropped his bombshell on her and she still hadn’t even begun to come to terms with the black specter that had been released into her life. In a way, she felt selfish, focusing on her feelings this way. After all, this wasn’t about her, it was about him, about Henry.

  And yet, all she could think of was what was she going to do without him. She couldn’t even begin to imagine what life would be like without Henry.

  She refused to imagine what life would be like without him.

  The very notion that it could happen made her want to absorb him through every pore of her body. To memorize moments they spent together. He was her little brother. The last of her family.

  Granted, there were the girls, but Beth, and even Andrea, were children. Not only that, they were the second generation. Henry was the last one who knew her when she’d had braces. When her hair had been a light blond instead of the descriptionless shade of dark blond it had evolved into. Henry knew her when she used to catch fireflies and put them in a jar, secretly believing that if there was ever a power failure, she could light up the world with them.

  Impatiently, she looked at her watch, counting off the seconds. Where was he? If something had gone wrong, he would have called, right? Or had someone call for him. Fear began to scramble up the inside of her chest, lodging itself in her throat.

  When Henry’s voice came through on the other end of the line right after the fifth ring, she didn’t bother hiding the sigh of relief.

  “Hi, you’re still there.”

  “Still here.”

  She could hear the smile in his voice. It warmed her. “Did you call that doctor I found for you?”

  Patience embedded itself in the warmth. “Elisha, he’s a holistic healer.”

  That was no reason to write the man off. The testimonials to the man had taken up three pages on the Internet. “And maybe he’s on to something. What have you got to lose?”

  “Time,” he told her frankly. “I don’t want to spend it chasing my tail. I want to spend it with you and the girls.”

  She’d been frequenting bookstores, looking through the alternative-medicine sections as well as hitting all the Web sites dealing with the latest medical breakthroughs. Somewhere in all that discovery, in all that rhetoric, there had to be something that would keep Henry on this earth a little longer. The stack of books and notes she’d accumulated were a healthy size. It was time Henry started going through them.

  “Well, I’m coming up for dinner tonight, so you’re getting that part of your wish.” Elisha paused, searching for the right way to segue into her question. There wasn’t one. But this was Henry and he was used to her jumping from topic to topic, so she jumped. “Have you told them yet?”

  She heard him taking in a breath before answering. Was that just a coincidence, or was he hurting? She was afraid to ask that question. “Yes.”

  Okay, one hurdle down. She took the next, the one that meant he was convinced he was going to win. “And did you also tell them that their daddy is going to lick this thing?”

  Henry laughed shortly, but she couldn’t tell if there was a smile on his face when he said, “Yes, I told them all the appropriate lies, Elisha.”

  She knew he always wanted to be truthful with the girls. But he wasn’t militant about it. The truth took on many shapes and he would never knowingly strip his daughters of their safety net.

  “They’re not lies, Henry. Dammit, I told you that you have to believe that you’re going to get well, otherwise, it won’t work.”

  “This isn’t an old stage production of Peter Pan, Elisha. You don’t just clap your hands and make Tinker Bell live. I’m afraid that this is a little bit more involved than that.”

  “Faith can move mountains.”

  “It helps if you have dynamite on your side.”

  This time she did hear the smile in his voice. It heartened her a little. “That’s what I’m looking for. Dynamite.”

  “Keep looking, Lise. I’m not trying to discourage you.”

  “Good, because you can’t.”

  That was for the wee hours of the night, when she’d lie awake, staring at her ceiling, feeling hopelessly overwhelmed. Wondering why things arranged themselves the way they did. Why they couldn’t be the way she wanted them to be.

  Elisha thought of the pile of books and articles on her coffee table at home. “I’ve got some more things I found for you.”

  “I look forward to seeing them.”

  Her mouth curved even as she shook her head. Some things didn’t change. Henry was still the one trying to comfort her instead of the other way around. Even during that awful period when his wife had died, Henry was the one who’d ultimately wound up comforting everyone. Her, the girls, Rachel’s best friends. When did he get the privilege to break down?

  Elisha caught her lower lip between her teeth. She didn’t want to think about it.

  “Okay
, then it’s settled. I’m coming over tonight. Don’t go to any trouble, by the way. Since I’m inviting myself over, I’m bringing dinner.”

  “Pizza?”

  She laughed. “I’m too predictable.”

  Henry was nothing if not supportive. For just a second, it felt as if the other thing, that darkness that loomed over their lives, was just a lie. “Hey, don’t underestimate that. It’s nice to have some things to count on. Seven?”

  The receiver nestled between her ear and shoulder, she was already looking through her BlackBerry for the number of the pizzeria she called that was near Henry’s place. “Earlier if I can get away and the traffic doesn’t make a saint cry.”

  “See you then.”

  “Bye.”

  She was just hanging up the receiver when her phone buzzed. Henry’s light hadn’t gone out yet, so the call was coming in on her second line. Elisha paused a second as the words suddenly hit her.

  Henry’s light hadn’t gone out yet.

  And God willing, it won’t, she thought before she switched to the second line. Locating the number for the pizza parlor, she placed the BlackBerry on her desk and turned her full attention to the call.

  “Elisha Reed.”

  “Elisha, this is Sinclair. I’m just back from my tour. My head is still spinning.” The deep chuckle rang in her ear. Sinclair sounded very pleased with himself. The tour must have gone very well. With any luck, he could live off the fumes of all that goodwill for several weeks. Long enough to guide him into his new project. “This is New York City, right?”

  “Right. All eight million of us, stuffed onto a little island.”

  “Which brings me to my next point,” Sinclair said. “Are you free for lunch?”

  These days, she didn’t seem to have an appetite. Eating was a low priority. She’d intended on spending lunch today the way she had the last two weeks, checking all the sites she now knew by heart, looking for something new to have been put on since the last time. That one new thing that might point her to the right path that would eventually lead to arresting her brother’s condition, or perhaps even, please God, sending it into remission.

  She was making deals with God on a daily basis now, bartering for time, just a little more time. Every new day was precious.

  On the other end of the line, Sinclair seemed to interpret the silence in his own way. He, like everyone else, was aware of how hard she could work.

  “Because if you’re not free for lunch,” he continued, “I’ll bring lunch to you. Or if it’s a matter of another author sucking up your time, I’m feeling too good to sulk about it. I’ll just take you out to dinner.”

  To Sinclair, dinner before eight wasn’t civilized. By then she intended to be well into her visit with Henry and the girls. “I’m afraid that dinner’s not possible, Sinclair.”

  She heard him make a disparaging noise. “Dinner’s always possible.” And then his voice brightened, taking on a hopeful note. “Unless it’s a hot date.”

  The man was like a favorite grandfather. One who believed that God had intended the people of the world to exist in pairs. He’d even attempted to play matchmaker once, until she made it perfectly clear that her single status was not something she lamented but, for the most part, enjoyed. If he’d had the slightest inkling that it was by resignation, the man would have been off and running, searching for possible mates for her.

  “I’m seeing my brother and his daughters tonight.” It wasn’t necessary to say anything more, even if she was able to.

  “Ah, family. Very important, family. Don’t know what I’d do without mine.” And then he chuckled. They both knew he had a family that at times made the Addams Family appear normal in comparison. “Of course, I like keeping them at arm’s length because as wonderful as having family around is, not having them around at times is pretty damn wonderful, too.” Dropping the topic, he reconnoitered. “So, is it settled? Lunch?”

  She supposed that the Internet wasn’t going anywhere. Besides, there was that old adage about a watched pot. Maybe by tonight, there would be something new on it worth reading.

  “Lunch,” she agreed.

  “I’ll come by to pick you up at eleven-thirty. Brace yourself, I intend to tell you all about my adventures, especially about the woman who wanted me to autograph all the copies of my books that she had in her den.” This time, the chuckle was very earthy.

  “Sounds like someone had a very good time,” she commented, doing her best to sound enthusiastic for his sake.

  She genuinely liked Sinclair. He’d been her first author of renown and she found him very easy to talk to. When he wasn’t going through a crisis about writer’s block, he was very entertaining. Riding high on his success, she had no doubt that he would sound just like an animated version of one of his books—chatty, fast-paced and exuberant, with a dash of mystery thrown in every so often. With any luck, she’d give him his lead today and he would do all the talking for the rest of the meal.

  Elisha closed her eyes, suddenly feeling exhausted. Since Henry had told her his diagnosis, she’d been averaging only four hours of sleep a night. With the least little bit of encouragement, she could easily just fall asleep.

  When her eyes drooped down a second time, she forced herself up to her feet. She had an hour before Sinclair came to take her away to lunch. An hour in which she had to get some kind of work done. She hated not being productive. With a sigh, she rose to her feet and headed out of her office, down the hall to the newly renovated ladies’ room.

  Work had been completed three weeks ago, but the area still smelled faintly of paint. She tried not to notice. Paint gave her a headache.

  Elisha turned on the faucet and cupped her hands beneath it to catch the water. Taking in a breath, she brought the water to her face. All it succeeded in doing was washing away the minimal makeup she’d remembered to put on this morning.

  For a second, she looked at her reflection. The lighting in bathrooms was designed to make everyone look like a wraith, she decided. She really did look like hell, she thought, recalling Sutherland’s less-than-heartwarming greeting the last time she’d seen him.

  She hadn’t heard a peep out of him since then. Was that a good sign? To hell with signs. Right now, she didn’t care. All she cared about was that Henry would be around to help her celebrate her birthday next April.

  And after April came, there’d be another goal to meet. She intended to continue updating goals indefinitely, until Henry wound up outliving her.

  Stranger things had happened.

  CHAPTER 15

  “Is something wrong?”

  The question came from behind her. Raising her head and looking into the mirror, Elisha realized that one of the bathroom stalls had been occupied when she’d entered. Carole came out, doing her best to summon a look of concern on her perfectly made-up, heart-shaped face.

  Dammit, she should have checked first to make sure that she was alone. Not that she’d cried, thank God. But she looked as if she had been crying and heaven only knew what Carole would create out of this nothing of a scene. Elisha had no doubt that if there was a way, the woman would attempt to use this to try to advance herself. She had no idea how, but then, she’d never wanted to further her career by walking on top of dead bodies.

  Elisha took a deep breath, peeling back a smile so far, the corners of her mouth hurt. “Not a thing.” And then, because women didn’t just throw water into their faces for no reason, she had to say something. “I’m just a little tired, that’s all.”

  Instantly, the woman in the tight, powder-blue power suit took her cue. Though they were standing practically hip to hip at the counter, their eyes met in the mirror. “Well, if you like, I could take over a few things for you, free you up so that you can go home early and get some rest.” Carole turned her head to look at her directly. Triumph lit her eyes. “You really do look as if you need it.”

  “What I need,” Elisha replied cheerfully, not the easiest feat to accomplish
through clenched teeth, “is to get back to work.”

  Like a shark on the scent of blood, the nubile blonde refused to back away. A confidential note entered her voice. “Mr. Randolph told me he thinks you really should delegate more.”

  She wasn’t going to let the little witch get to her, Elisha promised herself. Carole obviously smelled a moment of weakness and was trying to move in for the kill—or at the very least, move in.

  Sorry, honey, no vacancies, not today.

  “Mr. Randolph says a lot of things,” Elisha replied with a calmness she didn’t feel. She could see the way the would-be senior editor was looking at her, as if Carole was waiting for her to admit to having one foot in the grave.

  Elisha slanted a glance at herself in the mirror. She was losing weight, not by design, and her clothing was beginning to hang on her frame. This was definitely not one of her best days. Apart from better-fitting clothing, she really did need to learn what to do with makeup so that she didn’t resemble someone from the cast of Night of the Living Dead.

  On her way out, Elisha paused to give Carole one last, phony smile. “I wouldn’t take Mr. Randolph’s words to heart if I were you.” She turned away and crossed to the outer door. “Provided you can find your heart.” The last was said under her breath as she made her exit.

  Elisha returned to her office, determined to get something done in the hour before Sinclair arrived. She supposed she couldn’t really fault Rocky if he’d actually said what Carole claimed he’d said to her. The man meant well, he just didn’t understand what kind of person Carole Chambers was. Being born the heir apparent to Randolph & Sons Publishing, Rocky had no idea about the kind of back-stabbing melodrama that could and did go on in the business world.

  The literary world was no different, given the wrong set of people. For the most part, Elisha found that she got along very well with the other senior editors. Happily, that extended to most of the rising editors and assistant editors, as well. But every species had its piranha and Randolph & Sons had Carole.